Awen Rising

by O J Barré

  When the old housekeeper lifted a ring of thin sticks with runic carvings and bragged of young Emily’s proficiency in reciting the alphabet—both English and ogham—she couldn’t believe her good fortune. But the extent of Mary’s knowledge was limited to rudimentary symbols and those now forgotten.

  Disappointed, Emily focused on Mary’s tale of an Amsterdam ancestor who had come to America to make his fortune. Within days of arriving, he fell madly in love with Mary’s Iroquois grandmother, wooed her, and won her heart. Mary’s jet hair, ruddy skin, and aquiline nose confirmed her heritage.

  They wove through the bedrooms and Mary prattled about piggyback rides and hide-and-seek games with Emily’s brother. At the mention of Sean, Mary’s long face clouded and her breathless ebullience faded.

  “What is it, Mary?” Emily probed. “Sean Jr mentioned something about my brother being murdered. Do you believe that, too?”

  “Pshaw, no, deary,” Mary wagged her wizened head. “Sean had been depressed most of his life. Murder? No. More likely the depression and the meds drove him to end it.”

  “An overdose?”

  “Yes.” Mary’s face crumbled.

  Emily could tell there was more, but she let it go when the doorbell rang, and Mary excused herself to answer. Not up to meeting any more relatives at the moment, Emily wandered the house and discovered a sitting room filled with framed portraits and photographs.

  Many were of Hamilton and Alexis, some from their wedding. From the photos, the lavish druid ceremony had been heavily attended. Her mother glowed and her Da looked ecstatic.

  So, they were happy once. Pre-Emily.

  She spied a picture of her teenaged mother and lifted the frame. Alexis was dressed in a ceremonial robe and wielded a slightly-bent wand. Emily stared at the photo, wagging her head back and forth.

  “You didn’t know your mother was a druid?” Emily jumped, not expecting Morgan’s familiar voice. Wheeling, she clutched the frame to her chest and shook her head.

  After a moment of silence and a long, searching stare, Morgan flounced into a corner chair and announced matter-of-factly, “Well, she was. And quite an accomplished one, too. Though after you came along, I wondered if Alexis hadn’t gone mental.”

  Choking on her own saliva, Emily sputtered, “What do you mean?” The aroma of Kyotiri wafted to her as Morgan fluffed her hair.

  “Alexis was convinced, though it was highly illogical, that marrying my brother would grant her a claim to the Hester throne. When you came along, she finally understood she would never be grand druid or anything close.

  “It broke her, I think. One day I saw her eyeing you with such anger, it frightened me. I mean, how could a mother feel that way? Especially about her own child? I had little ones of my own and I still can’t imagine.”

  Emily’s heart squeezed. Her mother had despised her. Here was confirmation.

  She replaced the frame and faced her aunt. “I can’t imagine it either.”

  Morgan took her hand and held it tight. “Alexis came unglued at your confirmation, Emily. She had to be sedated for days. After that, she denounced her druid roots and turned her back on the old ways. She drank heavily and refused to nurse you or even hold you in her arms. Hamilton cared for you the best he could.”

  Emily listened to the harsh words, knowing them for truth. She snatched a Kleenex from a nearby box and blew her nose. “Poor Da,” she mumbled.

  “Poor you,” Morgan snorted. “But you’re right. Your mother took to partying and staying out until all hours of the night, having one affair after the other. She made sure your father knew about them, too, breaking his heart. Yet my brother loves her still.”

  Sorrow creased Morgan’s brow. “He’s a prime example of not being able to help who we love. When Alexis ran away with you, Ham was beside himself. We all were. He hired a private investigator and even when the authorities gave up, your Da didn’t. He never stopped searching for twenty-six years.” Morgan’s gaze held hers.

  Emily slid into a small rocker facing her teary-eyed aunt. “Thank you, Aunt Morgan. Your explanation helps. Mama was never nice to me, at least not on purpose. When she drank, she was downright mean. At least now I know why.” Emily clenched her jaw, resolving to put her mother in the past where she belonged. “Can I ask you a question?”

  Her aunt nodded and dabbed her eyes with a tissue.

  “Why me as grand druid? Why not you?”

  Morgan cleared her throat and gave Emily a steadying stare. “I’m pretty sure you know the answer to that. But I will tell you again because it bears repeating. Emily, you are the direct female descendent of Awen, the druid high priestess, and William the Conqueror. Their union, one thousand years ago, set into play a series of events that have culminated in the here and now. With you.”

  “But why not you? You are a direct female descendant, too. And much more qualified. Or Becca or Dana? Why me? I’m no hero. Believe me, the druids would be better off with someone else.”

  “Dru-y-en.” Morgan leaned forward. “It is important you understand this, once and for all. You are the Awen. The signs are incontrovertible. You were born during the new moon, on Midsummer’s Day, only months before the world was prophesied to end. You bear the sign of the oak, strong and enduring as the sun, yet you are also a moon daughter, fluid and ethereal. The Elders declared it at your birth. You are the Awen.”

  Emily started to argue, but Morgan stood and bowed slightly. “You, Emily Hester, are prophesied to save our world. Not I, Morgan Foster. You.” A whooping siren punctuated the “you,” commanding their attention.

  “Hamilton,” her aunt chirped and dashed from the room.

  Emily followed on suddenly reluctant legs. The air left her lungs and she gripped the door jamb, overcome by a cold and familiar darkness. What was she doing? Her mother was right. No way was she worthy of being a part of this important family. She held on tight until the panic wave passed, leaving her off-balance and shaken.

  When she opened her eyes, Mary Cobb stood before her. “You okay, Emmy?” Mary clutched Emily’s wrist.

  Grateful for the support, Emily meant to nod. But her head wagged slowly back and forth. Mary’s scrawny arms opened and she melted into them, seeking the comfort she remembered from her childhood. Strong arms drew Emily close, their strength as heartening as the woman’s next words.

  “There, there Miss Emmy. Me and Simon have some tricks left up our sleeves. We’re gonna take care of you. And your daddy. You’ll see.” The housekeeper held her at arm’s length. A crooked grin split the weathered face.

  Something about the smile made Emily believe. When she beamed back at Mary, her fear was gone. In its place was a ball of something warm and fuzzy. Love. Holding on to the feeling, Emily hurried to join Morgan and Don outside on the front landing.

  Maria and Sirona were on their best behavior, with Dana between them, arms around the girls. Sirona twisted to clamp on to Morgan’s leg and chattered about her Uncle Hamilton.

  Randall, Mosely, Jules and the other distant cousins whose names Emily couldn’t remember stood behind the more immediate family. Off to one side, Elise fingered a dogwood blossom, newly opened in time to greet the owner of Wren’s Roost. A hush fell upon them as the paramedics wheeled Hamilton’s gurney across the flagstone drive. They parted as the crew hefted it up the brick steps to the front door.

  At Dr. Finn’s insistence, Ham’s bedroom had been converted to a hospital room for around-the-clock care. It was the condition under which Finn had allowed Ham to come home, and only after the hospital had run every imaginable test. Even then, Finn released his still-comatose patient under protest.

  Once the paramedics settled Hamilton in bed, the family filed in one by one, then left the same way they came. Most told Emily they were praying for his quick return to health. A few expressed happiness she was back at Wren’s Roost. And one had the bad manners to say it was too bad Emily hadn’t gotten to meet her Da. Which was true, and Emily had thought i
t herself, but still.

  When the family was gone, Emily climbed the stairs to her father’s room. Hope was curled by Hamilton’s side, one long, striped arm stretched across his waist.

  **

  Mitch strode up the grand brick entrance to Wren’s Roost and used the emergency key to open the massive front door. He swept through the house, managing to evade both Mary and Simon Cobb before bursting into his father’s bedroom.

  Emily Hester leapt from a chair by the bed. “What the hell? You’re supposed to be gone!”

  The remark rolled off Mitch’s back but when he saw the cat, he wavered. He hadn’t expected the cat. The tabby stood and stretched in a slow, sardonic motion designed to irk him, before sniffing the air and jumping to the floor, where it sat in the doorway at attention. Amber eyes accused.

  Turning his back to Emily and the cat, Mitch observed the rise and fall of the old man’s chest. That and the beeping machines were the only signs Hamilton Hester was alive. Mitch stepped closer and lifted Hamilton’s cool hand.

  How small and insignificant the hand felt, not the overpowering force Mitch had known. Letting it fall, he pondered the revelation. Gone was the inferiority Mitch had felt when in the same room with his unprofessed father.

  Silently rejoicing, he rounded on the woman who had no idea he was her half-brother. “Are you all settled in?” Mitch asked, not caring one way or the other. Emily nodded, but didn’t speak. Apparently, she felt no compunction to be nice to him either. Fine that. “Good to know.” He leaned forward to stick the knife in. “I came by to deliver a message from Reverend Shalane Carpenter.”

  Mitch paused for a reaction.

  When none came, he continued, “She will be performing at The Fox Theater in a couple of weeks and is leaving free, front-row tickets for you at Will Call.” When Emily planted her hands on her hips and cocked one brow, Mitch jabbed, “A friend of yours?”

  That scored a snarl. “I sincerely doubt it. I’m pretty sure any friend of mine would call me directly, not waste time sending messages through a second-rate attorney.”

  That did it. Something in Mitch snapped and he struck out at Emily.

  But he had underestimated his enemy. Emily blocked the punch and bent his arm behind him with such force Mitch crashed to his knees. Pain shot from his shoulder down his arm. She shoved him backward into the bed. Mitch stumbled and barely avoided landing on Hamilton, yelping when his hurt arm broke his fall.

  Fear overtook the churning hatred. Mitch backed away, rubbing his arm. No way was he sparring with a mad woman. There was more than one way to skin a cat. He hissed loudly at the striped one by the door then slipped past it and down the hall.

  **

  “Brava, my dear girl, brava! You put young Wainwright in his place. He’ll think twice about tangling with you again. I knew you had it in you! Brava!” Hope leapt to the bed. “But who is this Carpenter woman, and why did his news make you so angry?”

  Emily groaned, not wanting to talk about it. “She was the shaman in California I told you about. I studied with her until I figured out she was a controlling, narcissistic sociopath. Then I went to great lengths to separate myself from her and make sure she could never find me again. Since coming here, my face has been plastered all over the news. It was only a matter of time.”

  Emily shuddered at the thought of having to tangle with Shalane again.

  A speculative gleam sharpened Hope’s regard. “You give this woman too much power. Will you go to this show and face her?”

  Emily snorted. “Not on your life. That bitch can rot in hell before I go anywhere near her or her so-called performance. That woman is bad news. Trust me.”

  Patty’s Odd Behavior

  S halane paced the room, ranting and threatening, not for the first time, to send Patrika Tolbert home. Over the last couple of weeks, the girl’s behavior had changed dramatically. And not for the better.

  Patty’s defense? She couldn’t help it. One minute the girl would be her usual cuddly self. The next, she would snarl and attack, striking out at Shalane over philosophy she didn’t agree with or actions Patty felt were not right.

  Which was absurd, considering the girl had no idea about either.

  The doctor thought Patty’s hormones might be whacked out, but the tests came back negative. Now Patrika had pitched a bitch about Ebby Panera, screeching at Shalane in the middle of a phone call with Mitchell Wainwright.

  On top of that, the sexy-sounding attorney had delivered news that Ebby, or Emily as she called herself now, had declined the tickets. Now Shalane would have to devise a new plan. What she did not need was another of Patrika Tolbert’s temper tantrums.

  “You get zero say in my love life,” Shalane snapped. “I see whom I want, when I want. You,” she poked a freshly-manicured finger in Patty’s sternum, “are here at my behest. Remember that and keep your sulks to yourself. You hear me, young lady?”

  The girl’s lower lip trembled, but she nodded. She liked being kept, liked having everything she needed and more. She was even learning magic, free of charge. “I’m s-sorry,” Patty hiccupped. “I don’t mean to mess up. I can’t help it. Words pop in my head and out of my mouth before I can stop them. I’ll try harder, I promise.”

  It would have to do for now. They had booked an appointment with a world-class specialist at the Emory Clinic in Atlanta. If that didn’t help, Shalane would make good on her threats and send the girl home.

  **

  Nergal stroked his nubby horns and studied the screen. He was making little headway with the human Shalane. And time was growing short. Soon he must leave Xibalba IX for the meeting in Irkalla. To circumvent any plot Shibboleth might be hatching, Nergal had decided to reveal his project at the called gathering. But he had run into a snag.

  He thought his idea to control Shalane through the shill was a good one. In some ways, it was. Through her, Nergal had determined the witch might actually be his descendant. She was stubborn, cold, vicious, and cutthroat.

  And like Nergal, she was inappropriate when it came to sex, consistently outperforming her grandmother Camille. Nergal had also learned a handful of spells, but simple magic that would do little for his bid for AboveEarth.

  His trial with the shill, while disappointing, had served a larger purpose. Nergal had learned that in order to control the priest, he would have to link with her directly. Meaning, they must end her connection with the Fomorian.

  But the transition could kill his most valuable asset. Nergal stroked his chin scales and considered the loss. He didn’t like the odds and needed time to effect the change.

  He would wait until his return from Shibboleth’s meeting. Just in case.

  On Cu’s Cue

  E mily hurried along the trail to the cave, the last stop in Hope’s treasure hunt. The apocalypse thing was wearing thin, but obviously still effective. On a normal day, Emily wouldn’t go near a cave, much less into one. Especially not alone.

  Whether she could muster the courage to venture inside was another matter. But the trinket, the last and most valuable on Hope’s list—a druid collar made of solid gold—was hidden nearby.

  She had been all over Atlanta looking for items and still found the treasure hunt silly. But the Elder insisted it was crucial to her druid training and would teach Emily to pay attention. To follow the threads presented by life.

  The woods opened on a small clearing and Emily froze. There, in the middle of her path, was Brian’s dog. The one she had encountered her first night in Atlanta. Its back was to Emily and it stared out across a sunlit pond. Brian was nowhere to be seen. On the far side of the lake was the yawning mouth of what would be her destination.

  Cu sniffed the air and ignored her, easing Emily’s fear. A breeze ruffled the surface of the pond, lapping ripples against the cave. Hope’s instructions had been to find the glade by the pool that springs from the heart of the world. This must be the place. But what was Cu doing here?

  Emily stayed still, taking
her cue from the wheat-colored colossus. After their encounter in the park, she had searched the web and found it was an Irish wolfhound, the tallest of all dogs.

  Bred for hunting wolves, it was fast enough to catch an alpha and strong enough to rip it to shreds. Coo was easily three feet at the shoulders and could take a hunk out of Emily’s face, should he be so inclined. Lucky for her, she’d met him before.

  The wolfhound’s long, elegant snout swiveled in Emily’s direction. It snorted and looked away to gaze at the cave again, as calm today as it was manic the other.

  From a willow on the opposite bank, a mockingbird trilled, a series of notes strung together in a lilting aria that filled the glade. Beneath its perch, mosses and reedy grasses veiled the rocks surrounding the cave.

  A cave Emily had been directed to enter. Alone.

  A rush of panic jellied her legs. To steady her nerves, she studied the pony-sized dog. It had a distinguished bearing that commanded respect, even awe. She could imagine him as a duke or an earl with an expensive druid torc adorning the long, royal neck.

  A torc? Of gold? Holy shit!

  Consulting the slip of paper clutched in her fist, Emily read what was already committed to memory: a collar of pure gold, two inches wide with a rope inlay banding the middle. As calmly as possible, she eyeballed the torc. The collar that was supposed to be hidden in the cave glittered instead around the dog’s neck.

  She flashed to that night she’d gotten lost. Hope and the wolfhound had appeared the same day. Were they in cahoots? Had the Elder meant for Emily to find the dog? Was it part of the whole treasure hunt thingy?

  The wolfhound sprang to life. It whipped around and sniffed at Emily, wiry body wagging and hairy tail thumping, sending the aroma of crushed violets in the air. Emily squealed, backpedaling. The dog stood tall, its graceful snout parted in a sardonic grin. The collar looked at home on its regal neck. She hoped she wouldn’t have to wrangle it from the beast.